Hyper Subspace Portal

It's February 18, 2006 and a blizzard swallows up Scranton, Pennsylvania, in its bone chilling frozen grips (this happened to be the last time I went railfanning without proper head gear, the temperature was so cold).

The National Park Service and a handful of railfans are undaunted and the day's activities continue unabated. My brother and I took advantage of some down time in the activities to tour the Steamtown shop and check in on the progress of some steam locomotive restorations. At one such juncture inside the shop a white sport utility vehicle is parked nose to nose with the frame and fully opened smoke box of what was a steam loco under massive repairs. Such a scene thus invoked my over active imagination (and having watched "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" right around then also, well two and two came together...(originally posted on mY! first blog February 20, 2006)



The story unfolds in the unsuspecting, thriving city of let's call it Hartsdale (because it's the only thing coming to mind as I write). Most people are happy in Hartsdale, but there's a growing dissatisfaction among townsfolk about the town's name. Eventually, they'll be petitioning this author to go ahead and do something about that but in the interests of keeping this story moving, there aren't enough interested parties interested in petioning yet.

whew So okay, two guys and a girl (yet unnamed but their internet avatars are attractive) set out one day and accidentally on purpose drive this white SUV on a muddy Winter's day through said fake portal (the disassembled steam loco smokebox. It works better with the accompanying photo which is currently unavailable) into a new environment that the three were totally unexpecting to find.

"Whoa!" exclaimed Steve (because he was the first to be named but more importantly because his senses were overwhelmed by the undescribable scene sprawling in front of him infinitely.

"Unbelievable," said Sue (who hated her name. It sucked really, she thinks of herself more as a um...a uh, Alexandra. Yes she's also in favor of changing the town's name. So please forget her name is Sue because it's now Alexandra). And she was in awe of said undescribable scene, but imagine if you will a sparkling city of shimmerey light not unlike the Emerald City if it weren't green tinted and more disco ball like.

The third party member, not impressed by the sight, carried on as normal because he still had no name and was more interested in finding a light for his cigarette.

"This story is about as cool as my Grandmother's recounting of 1920's Easter gatherings," deadpanned Sue/Alexandra (because its easier to type Sue but Alexandra is a nicer name. It fits her avatar better too). "I'd like to see some action soon, anything more interesting than this."

Jacob spit as a reaction to getting a name. Just then there was a big solar flare. Well the three travellers thought it might have been a solar flare, but it was really the guy using a torch on the steam locomotive. I mean it was the portal sealing them into this new dimension.

"What do we do now?" cried Sue (yeah, forget Alexandra for now, her birthname is Sue so deal).

"Duh, find a way out by going in!" Steve said in a Freddy from Scooby Doo manner.

"Genius," spat Jacob. He couldn't find a light so he stuffed some chew in his gum. And the three began heading towards the shimmery lights of Discoville. *enter Star Wars episode three Cabana music and exheunt*

As also posted in the original any references to pop culture icons are for reference only for ease in descriptive purposes. Looks like I'll have to post the accompanying photos and edit in the appropriate links. The stories of these three characters are inane and I should really have my fictitious writer's guild card revoked and burnt for even typing them...parts two and three of this first trilogy to follow soon.

Stranger Danger

There's no denying it. I really like trains. I've established that. As such I enjoy photographing them and also model railroading. I'm going to single out the photography side as I'm going to relate an encounter I'd really wished I'd diffused immediately, instead of being the nice guy I aspire to be.

June 7, 2009, Sunday, Sunbury, Pennsylvania. My "fate"ful visit to my alma matter has ended and I'd really like to photograph the local freight that runs past the campus, for the modern spin on the old classic, and because I'm all about the nostalgia. It's quite a nice late Spring day and I hear a train a-comin' *momentarily breaks into Johnny Cash then composes self. THEN makes note to Feral about "borrowing" blog techniques*...

Anyways, throwing obsessive-compulsive security measures to the slight breeze with full abandon I dash out of my van with my trusty pixel sidekick on my neck and run to get into position; leaving both windows of the van wide open, the doors unlocked, mp3 player, radio, cell phone all inside awaiting the closest thief.

What appears to be a local man is meandering down the street with his dog Murphy. I know it's Murphy because after the train went by and I'm returning to my van this dog walker yealls Son of a B----! like he's just blown his chance of van-jacking me because he was watching the train. Good news for me. So the dog walker, who introduces himself as Gunner follows me back to my van and introduces Murphy (where I learned the dog's name) and asks if I may give him and Murph a ride to the VFW. He accidentally left his keys there the night before and his car is at the hotel across the river in Hummel's Wharf. Now, I'm buying all of this because in my college experience there wasn't much more to do than get polluted on Friday and Saturday nights (I'm happy to say I never partook beyond three shots in one sitting and have never been polluted in a drunken sense. I was the late night d.j. on the radio after all... sort of encouraging them).

So, even though I would rather have been going after the train, I let Gunner & Murph inside. A few empty soda bottles fell out of my van as Murphy jumped in. Gunner suggests I should clean my van (ironic that a guy who's seemingly living on the streets tells me to clean my van -- well, I didn't know his actual condition at this point, in all fairness).

"Okay, Gunner, where's the VFW?" He guides me through a couple wierd turns down sidestreets in Sunbury proper and he's asking me about Connecticut and Fairfield County specifically.

"You know Route 11 is closed up here don't you?" he informs when I tell him which way I'm going home.

"Yeah," and I explain how I now about the detour because that's the way I came INTO town Saturday morning, "Where's this VFW?"

"Take a left and go across the river." It's bad enough I went the opposite way of the train, I'm now over half an hour behind it and I'll never see it again wondering with each second when Gunner is gonna van-jack me.

"It's closed," Gunner comes back. Now I need to bring him someplace else and his stories raise another yellow flag (the first was his getting in in the first place. THAT one should have been RED). Ultimately we wind up headed back towards the river again.

"I can ride with you to Berwick," Gunner says. I pull over into a factory driveway along the main route.

"You're getting out here, Gunner. Don't forget Murphy."

"But you're headed home, right?"

"I've got something else to do first back the other way. You were supposed to have a short ride and your car is over in Hummel's Wharf."

In other words, don't let me run your rear end over and have a nice life. I waited until I could see Murphy was well clear of my van and there was a break in traffic. It took two hours to feel okay about myself again. I never should have let Gunner get so far with me.

Flashback!!

The double-entendre is on purpose for one: I shall again whisk you back in time using that literary metaphor of squiggly Wayne and Garth lines and two; because while writing my previous blog entry my brain short-circuited and recalled a written piece of mine which appears to be older than I remembered writing it. Folks, don’t let age happen to you. It’s what makes your parents the way they are.

Initially I’d thought this little gem of a remembrance had been documented in my very first blog archive, but I read each entry I’d ever written and failed to come across what I was looking for. So then, I thought maybe it was part of a non-fiction assignment I’d written in college Senior year, only I apparently no longer have those papers either. Then when I began pondering what context I’d written the recollection under I picture the three ring binder diary/autobiography I used to keep until I moved out of my parents’s house. But the binder is still there in a box in my old closet and it’s the middle of the night as I write this, so I can’t look at this moment.

But I can write about it, except the more time that lapses, the more detail fades. It was a Summer’s day at Bumble Bee Nursery School and my fellow enrollees and I were playing on the grounds behind the school. They had a tall (for a five year old) wooden play scape that very easily could have resembled a small stage and this particular afternoon it did for about three minutes.

Even at such a young age music was a big part of me and I had dreams of being a famous singer/musician, so with air guitar in hand I jumped up “on stage” and wailed away like a kid possessed by Ted Nugent. (I WAS wearing Underoos that day, and I’d swear they were Spider-Man, but I can’t remember. It’s entirely possible somebody else was wearing Spider-Man Underoos and mine were different). I vocalized wailing guitar licks which blazed as fast as my tiny fingers would operate, gyrating my body in all kinds of directions oblivious to my surroundings until I’d stopped to get some air and sing the next verse (who knows what THAT would have even been) when all of a sudden the white curtain of imagination lifted at the sound of thundering applause!! I was scared! So I turned to face the audience (my teachers) bowed quickly, and then dove off of the stage for the security of the storage shed until recess was over. Again, don’t EVER get old. If you have to, keep your mind sharp. Don’t have “Senior Moments”.

Mighty Marvelite

Every now and then I get existential. Is my life pre-destined or do I make my own destiny? Well, I'm not in the frame of mind to be deep right now, but I bring this up because of photographs I found today. Yes, I should have brought this particular one home with me and scanned it so I could share it here, but I didn't. As with other things in life, I discovered this picture because I was actually looking for an envelope of pictures from the last full family vacation my nucleic family ever took, which was to Florida. I did find those also (well most of them).

So, getting back to the first said photo: it's of me in single digit years and I'm wearing an Amazing Spider-Man shirt. Frankly, I don't even remember this shirt (did Underoos ever come with tops?? I've just been mentally transported back to a wooden playscape at my nursery school when I was pretending to be a rock star -- hmm, nothing's changed... -- oops, I digress. It's been blogged at V.1 -- I'll import it sometime, promise). This revelation (about the shirt in the photo) made me think just how prevalent Marvel comics and more specifically Marvel characters have been in my life. That's just about the whole darn time! (And makes me worry facetiously that Marvel's been brainwashing me since infancy to be loyal, etc.)

Which got me thinking about the Captain America Hot Wheels bus I've had since childhood, where you can look in the back window and see an image of Cap in action. My older brother got a van which you look in the back of and see Doctor Doom (he's since given it to me). Funny sometimes what survives childhood and stays with you through the many years (unlike all of my shirts apparently). Of course, I've previously mentioned I still have the Fantastic Four game (must rescue that from the closet at my parents' house). Ooh, and I'm really excited to have a comics convention in my proverbial back yard. So long as it's not cancelled, ComiConn is to happen just up the street from my parents in my old home town this coming May. Oh yeah, I'm there, with fake ruby quartz safety glasses on!

So what do the photographs have to do with my destiny? Darned if I can think of it now. I was planning on writing something about destined to be some kind of hero based on the old photo of me in the Spidey shirt, but then I went off on another tangent (what ELSE is new?) and pre-destiny just didn't seem to fit any longer!

Overactive Imagination

Personally, I think this title doesn't do me much justice. Sure, I've been told I have an overactive imagination. I've also been told I have a healthy imagination. Both have come with a bit of a negative connotation. I don't care. I like to write and I like to pretend (another reason Halloween is so much fun for me).

Well, I never used to enjoy writing. That is until I was in High School writing stories in competition with my best friend. These weren't for class either, they were just to try and out do each other. My bud almost always had the better story. Anyways, skip ahead to college and I was talked into a Writing Minor, since I'd completed half of the required courses as part of the core curriculum. This is when I became comfortable writing in earnest. (It began by trying to become a better song lyric writer and morphed into other aspects of writing). I had a poetry class, a short story class and a self-imposed project to close the credit gap I needed to graduate (I'm STILL trying to polish this last one fifteen years later -- well, there was fourteen year exile to the storage box in between graduation and last Winter) I digress. I did graduate. (My instructor enjoyed our music trivia sessions after class and during our sessions working on this solo noose) *grin*

So here I was, November 2005, with a blog of my own. What would I do with it? Write of course! Initially I had intentions of being humorous "kill rabid porcelain dolls before those zombies eat your children" kind of thing. But more often than not I wound up espousing hot headed ignorant social commentary (which I fully resolve to not do here). Occasionally, though, I did get some creative writing (and by creative I mean somewhat bizarre) entries logged in; some will no doubt emigrate here, like these two:


Coast Evening March 28, 2006

The sun sets on another perfect coastal evening. The sea breeze blows gentle for once. Well, it's no different really, but it doesn't bother your spirits for a change. The gentle strains of nature fill your subconsciousness as the red sky darkens to a deep blue, purple then black. Your hair blows in your face, but that doesn't bother you either. It's great to be on the beach tonight. You get goosebumps on the way up the bank leading to the parking lot and the car. The two of you are the only ones out here tonight. He says something but you don't listen, you're wrapped up in your own thoughts. It's only after a few more steps you realize he's not right next to you. He's stopped, waiting intently for your answer.

"Aren't you coming?" you ask because you don't know what he said and honestly don't care. Why not? There isn't anything more pressing in your mind. No hairdresser, groceries, sales. Work isn't hard -- sometimes it's boring but isn't EVERY job?

"That depends" he replies, sadly. What is his problem now? He's going to spin his words, make you the bad one.

"On?" maybe you replied a little sarcastically but what the heck. You pretty much want to get back in the car and go home now, be rid of him for the rest of the night at least. Ugh, you need to suffer the ride home. He looks at you funny.

"Ice cream," his face suggests you answer in the positive, as if his stare will pull a 'yes' answer out of you.

"No thanks," even though some food product might be nice for a snack, "I'm tired. It's been a long day."

The breeze blows the enthusiasm from him. Good. A hot shower will make you feel better, or at least warm you up. You don't realize you're rubbing your arms until he asks if you're cold.

"Maybe a little," you say watching him turn the ignition. He puts the heat on low for a few minutes, just til you're back on the main drag. Within minutes he's pulling up to your door. You let yourself out of his car and key the lock to your gate.

"Thanks for tonight, I'll call you tomorrow," why did you say THAT? You have no intentions of calling him, not tomorrow anyway. You slip off your shoes and head towards the bathroom, still wrapped in the empty thoughts of your mind.

end



A sparkle emanates from her eyes like the glow from the full moon

A sparkle emanates from her eyes like the glow from the full moon
blue/white lasers shooting from her retinas
Cool beams brilliant to behold and drink in
coating your throat like milk of magnesia
tasting like mint
Her voice angelic
and she has a subtle aura of fruit about her body
that blinds me with her taste when I lean in for a kiss on the nape of her neck
Cynthia Miller radiated beauty in the middle of farmer Don Baggett’s cornfield
It wasn’t so much a cornfield as it was a haven for lightning bugs
They flashed and blinked like old time news photographers
Getting the scoop on the big story
"Moon Girl Lands in Millville"
Published above the fold, front page
with the story of the local millinery burning down below the fold
People thinking she did it with the moonbeams in her eyes
"It’s a damn shame" residents spoke but I knew better
Strong arms of obsession wanted lustfully to bear hug Cynthia that night
and squeeze the love out of her like Popeye opening a can of spinach
but Moose Boy could never be so lucky as to have this girl love him with such conviction
A love as true as a politician’s would be more suited to him
Years later they will still be yearning frustrated by a lack of any more attraction than the wanting of true love
Killing themselves inside from it
Stifling one’s stagnant heart prolongingly
until each of them is nothing more than a blob of human mass
Zombies still drawn to each other
Soulless but not undead
Voulez-vous couchez avec moi ce soir?
Standing motionless amidst the bugs and stalks staring soundlessly at each other

8/6/05

When it's Time to Change You've Got to Rearrange*

enter singing recognizable song from the Brady Kids "Sha na na na na na na na na Sha na na na na..." Oh, hey!

Whew, thankfully dreams like the one I previously described only come about once per year. Hopefully everyone is having a good start to 2010. I'm feeling quite a bit the same, not much better than o'nine, but certainly not any worse, and that's a good thing. My 2009 was outright pretty deplorable, eh, it happens. I'm about ready for a shaking up in my home life. At the risk of angering the Feng-Shui auras, I'm going to rearrange the decorations. I need a change. Things have been in the same place for roughly five years, and also my interests have cycled differently.

It's time to get rid of stuff I saved from my grandparents's home in hopes of selling, but frankly the effort isn't worth the return, and most of it isn't worth the effort to begin with. I guess this is Spring cleaning come early, but then I've never been one to follow traditional guidelines concerning when to Spring clean, when to put up the Halloween decorations, etc. (Halloween IS my favorite. More on THAT in the future). Of course, being a guy I've never had to worry about wearing white out of season. We guys can get away with just about anything...

That just about does it from the desk here in Oz-land (which is quite a bit different from L. Frank Baum's Oz, or Home Box Office's yet a little of each I guess can be found here somewhere, if you brush the dust bunnies aside).

*from The Brady Bunch television series and related song

From the WTF??!! Files

Bear with me, sometimes I have difficulty being concise. This happens to be one of those times. I've been divorced now longer than my marriage lasted and a couple times per year, lingering effects of the marriage ripple through the brain (ghosts and feelings don't properly describe my unconscious experiences) but I'm getting a little ahead of myself.

I do enjoy where my brain takes me on those special nights that my subconscious reveals most wondrous visions and sensations. (Oddly enough the two I'm describing this time are both medically related, hmm *ponders*)

It's December 25 (1994 I think) and I'd just gotten a stack of X-Men comics a day or two before hand (I believe about seven different issues) and I read them that day in one sitting, while enjoying a tall glass of Hood's Golden egg nog (mmm, egg nog). well, it's Christmas Day, the presents have been opened, dinner has been eaten, and I haven't looked healthy most of the day. With full belly and a two pill dose of cold medication in my system I alerted everyone that I was going to my room for a nap until desert. Well, I don't even remember the brand medication it worked so well! In my dream I was at the X-Men's Xavier mansion, in a dorm room bed and my favorite characters are gathered around me worried that I'm sick and offering bedside TLC (favorite Jean Grey still sticks out in my mind all these years later). I wound up sleeping through desert and the night but the next day I was much better. :-)

Now, I haven't mentioned this yet, but I'm also a disc jockey/karaoke jockey and I had a gig at a New Year's Eve party welcoming in 2010. The gig ran long, until 1:30 in the morning, and might have gone longer if my boss and I hadn't stopped playing music. The roads had a light snow covering on top of the mess that had been plowed earlier in the day but except for the slicker areas closest to home (which I had anticipated) were pretty much speed limit capable. I get ready to crawl into bed after I wind down around four in the morning and the aches of mid-life adulthood are throbbing (sore back, arthritic wrists) so I take two of my favorite pain reliever with a swig of red labelled well established cola and crawl under the covers with high expectations of really enjoying my dreams (meds :-)). Well, what I recall came after I had been woken up at 8am by the snow plow cleaning up the parking lot outside of my condominium. I grumble after peeking out the kitchen window and crawl back under the covers for more sleep.

I find I'm back in the mobile home my now ex-wife and I rented during the first two years of our marriage. This place defies all comprehension, whole wall sections were cut out and just laid in place, the front door was sprung and rarely stayed closed without a slam which damaged it more, empty screw holes in the walls making them look like they had chicken pox...all of this was real! The door my father fixed by adding aluminum angle pieces to keep it square and we had to frame the small window in aluminum to keep it from falling out. Anyways, I could expound upon this place for a whole blog, but the rest is irrelevant to the story.

So I'm cleaning (there's the first clue I'm in a deep sleep) and have just taken some unwanted furniture out to the dumpster in the mobile home park when I realize the front door isn't latching again. With each slam harder than before and my weight not being able to close it, I turn around to see my ex-wife laden with bags, relatives and new friends whom I don't even know come through the door (she really did move to Europe after our divorce). Well, obviously the place isn't up to her standards as it was all disarrayed from my rearranging everything to my satisfaction. The family and strangers made themselves at home so I went into the master bedroom to get away. A teacher friend of my Mom's comes in and gets me to talk about my feelings, and I'm just shy of the point of breaking down into tears and blubbering the rest of the gory marriage details when the ex-wife comes in trailing a number of dead celebrities who'd passed in 2009 (and I don't even drink coffee).

At some point the ex disappears and I'm having a conversation with a straight-haired Farrah Fawcett (as seen in one of her last guest appearances on Charlie's Angels) about how I was such a good friend with her during my marriage and that she doesn't want to lose my friendship. I reassure her she won't and the guy behind her looks sad.

"I need a hug," he says. "Well I need a hug too" I tell him (my emotions WERE in turmoil about my ex after all)

So the dark haired cut short chisel featured man peels off his shirt, drops his pants and throws me on the bed pinning me down. It's David Carradine and he's STRONG! Just when I'm prepared for the worst pain and event ever in my life I bolt awake with my heart racing. It's 1:30 pm.

Funny how I can write about this on the internet for everybody to see, yet I couldn't express my feelings to my wife during our marriage. I have theories about that, but not for the blog.

Happy New Year everybody. Here's hoping things get better! (I'm going to investigate what's in my cola)